


Obsession

by katzengefluster



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 17:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15635661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katzengefluster/pseuds/katzengefluster
Summary: An obsession borne out of boredom, Schuldig contemplates the complex mind of Tot, much to the displeasure of Crawford. But the deeper he delves, the more dangerous it becomes. There is a reason she is broken—someone has broken her. He will solve the mystery, even if it destroys everything he holds dear.





	1. Captivation

**Author's Note:**

> I started this back in 2010 but never finished it. I don't intend to let it go to waste.

How she captivated him, with her soft voice (too soft, too childish), her sugared thoughts (too sweet, too innocent), and the pressure he felt lying just underneath the surface. Her mind was like an underwater volcano, prepared to burst. He was sure that were he in her head when it split apart, he would be sucked into the maelstrom, swept along with the surge of memories and repressed feelings. It would be death by drowning, but at least it would be an accomplishment.  
  
“I've told you to stop thinking about her.”  
  
Schuldig frowned.  
  
“Do you ignore my request out of spite?”  
  
“Boredom,” Schuldig answered, before mechanically inserting his index finger into his mouth and chewing on the nail.  
  
“Stop biting your fingernails, Schuldig. It's childish and shows a lack of self control.”  
  
His eyes shifting to glare at Crawford, Schuldig bit back the retort that was on his lips,  _if you'd let me pick up smoking again, you wouldn't have to worry about my nails._ But he already knew the answer to that. Lack of self control.  
  
“Why do you care about my nails anyway?” He didn't really care about the question – he wasn't even going to listen to the answer. It was just a means of distracting himself.  
  
Crawford laid down his newspaper and tilted his head ever so slightly, so he could see his partner without too much strain. “Why are you obsessing over her?”  
  
He hadn't been expecting that. He stared at Crawford for a moment, not answering him right away. Eventually he looked at the wall and leaned back in his chair. “I told you, boredom.” He folded his arms over his chest and pushed his chair back onto the two rear legs, balancing on them. He knew it bothered the American. “She's interesting.”  
  
“She's not to be tampered with, I've already told you.” Crawford spoke in his dictatorial tone, the one he used because he knew it annoyed the German. There was control in annoyance, and he would not allow Schuldig to gain any sort of upper hand.  
  
“Who says I want to tamper with her?” Of course he wanted to tamper with her, what self-respecting telepath wouldn't? She'd obviously been tampered with already, by someone of great skill, to repress a lifetime worth of memories. Who wouldn't dream of cracking into that?  
  
Crawford sat back in his chair and picked up his newspaper, resuming his reading. Minutes passed before he answered Schuldig.  
  
“The future.”  
  
Schuldig's chair crashed back down on all fours as he turned his head to stare at Crawford. Before he could ask, the precognitive had already answered him.  
  
“You succeed, but it results in failure for the rest of us. Therefore, I will not allow you to continue your obsession. I do hope you understand my decision.”  
  
And that was all there was to be said on the matter.  
  
At least for the time being. Schuldig always found a way to wriggle out of the iron fist of oppression.


	2. Fragmented

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though he has been forbidden, he finds himself outside her bedroom window, waiting for some kind of opportunity, some kind of sign.

He knew he wasn't supposed to be here. He'd been expressly forbidden, or whatever fancy words Crawford had used.  _You will be punished if you disobey_ , he could hear the warning reverberating in his head. But it paled in comparison to the draw of that mind. It almost felt indecent to be sitting here, in the whipping cold, outside the girl's window, listening to her. She was talking to that rabbit again, always the rabbit! He tried to pry, tried to figure out where the rabbit had come from, why she clung to it as though it were her only tie to the world.  
  
 _What shall Tot have to drink before bed, Mr. Bunny? Neu has invited Tot to have tea with her, but Tot wonders whether it would be best to have milk instead? Tea might keep her awake, Mr. Bunny. Tot has a long day ahead of her tomorrow! She shall have to wake early, Schon has told her. So do you think it would be wise for Tot to have warm milk instead? Yes? You are always so thoughtful, Mr. Bunny. Tot wishes to thank you for giving her such wisdom! Would you like to come downstairs with Tot and Neu? You would? That is wonderful, My. Bunny! Come along, then._  
  
The click and close of the door made him sit up straighter and glance around. There was no one to be seen, no presence felt. Should he go inside? Her window was open a crack, it was almost as though she were inviting him in herself! It would be rude to not take this offered chance. After all, he thought to himself as he slipped inside her room, she'll be thanking him when he manages to succeed in cracking her mind.  
  
He stood in the middle of the bedroom, his eyes looking from wall to bed and back again. It was a very strange room, one filled with childish toys and pretty pictures, but he could feel already that it was devoid of character. This room had been designed for her, created as an aide to suppression. She was locked inside the pretty ballerina jewelry box of a little girl, an idol among all her treasures, always on display, always caged.  
  
The carpet was a deep plush, snow white and bright as though no one had ever stepped on it. There were no worn patches, no marks of footprints even except for his own. Very odd. Her bed was on a slightly raised platform, pink and purple and girly. Very girly.  
  
What was he doing here, exactly? What was he looking for? He knew he wouldn't find anything about her here. That would be foolish.  
  
 _You will be punished if you disobey._  
  
He ignored that annoying voice in his head, the one that kept telling him to climb back out through the window and leave, to go back to the apartment before Crawford returned from his meeting with Takatori. He looked at his watch – fifteen minutes. That would give him enough time to make it through the door before the black car would pull into its spot in the garage. By the time the American opened the door to their apartment, he could be lounging on the balcony, chewing on one of the hundred multicoloured straws Crawford had bought him (though he gave him a disapproving glare every time he reached for one).  
  
Of course Crawford would know that he'd been here, but he'd also know that he'd made the decision to leave before getting involved any further, so he wouldn't bother chastising him for it this time. He'd just tell him to throw away the straw and feed Farfarello. That would be punishment enough.  
  
The smart thing to do would be to leave. But Schuldig had never prided himself on being the smart one, because he'd never been smart. He'd been knowledgeable, intuitive, resourceful. But not smart. He'd never needed to be.  
  
He moved to her dresser, his fingers reaching out towards the silver hairbrush. He hesitated before touching it, listening.  _Thank you, Neu, Tot does love her new hairbow! Daddy picked it out just for Tot, that's what he told her. Mr. Bunny told her that she ought to put it on straightaway. He always knows what is best for Tot._  Still downstairs.  
  
He picked the brush up, holding it in his hand, weighing it, turning it over. There were no hairs caught in it, no sign that it was ever used. Was it just another decoration, then? He laid it back down in precisely the spot he had picked it up from. He moved on to the hand mirror, his eyes looking over the ornate detailing on the back. He picked it up and turned it over and nearly dropped it. The mirror was fragmented, cracked. Every piece was still intact, however, but still. Was this a sign? A signal that he was meant to pursue her? Surely, this could not be simple coincidence.  
  
He stared at his broken reflection, and wondered if she did the same. Did she know? Did she have moments of lucidity? Even the best jobs could begin to fade over time. Maybe she was beginning to unravel? Maybe he was meant to split her further apart?  
  
He put the mirror back down, having found what he'd come looking for. It hadn't been information after all. It had been a sign. She couldn't tell him in words what she wanted him to do, but she could tell him with actions, through allegory. When had she broken it? He needed to know. Should he go looking?  
  
 _You will be punished when you disobey._  
  
Why was he obsessed? It had never been from boredom, that had simply been the lazy way to explain. Crawford could not understand, would never understand. He would scold, and he would punish, and he would forbid him time and again. But he would never understand, and that would be what truly drove him mad with frustration. Through their years together as a team, Schuldig had never pushed his boundaries. He knew how they worked, he and Crawford. He knew his place. Was this truly worth the risk of upsetting that?  
  
 _Tot and Mr. Bunny wish you a good evening, Neu! They are going to bed now because tomorrow is very important!_  
  
He climbed out of the window, perching outside again. The opening click of the door had him holding his breath, and the closing click had him letting it out slowly, closing his eyes and savouring the taste of her thoughts, better than any nicotine fix could be. She hummed to herself as she began removing her clothing and preparing for bed, and he kept his eyes closed and sifted through her thoughts, probing gently while caressing the surface, not wanting to disturb the ebb and flow. The hand mirror, he kept thinking, the broken hand mirror...  
  
 _What do you think, Mr. Bunny? Do you think Tot looks pretty with a broken face? Like her broken head?_  
  
Two seconds of silence passed before his eyes flew open and he snuck a glance in through her window. How she captivated him in that moment, her delicate fingers holding the silver mirror, staring into the broken shards. She was smiling, and he could see her reflection in her mind, as though he was looking through her eyes. Was he looking through her eyes? Was he imagining that he could feel the mirror in his fingers? Was she that empty, that void of memories and the past that all she contained was the present, that the sensation of flesh on silver was so overpowering that she projected it into him?  
  
 _It is time for Tot to sleep, Mr. Bunny! She will be lonely in her big bed. Would you like to join her, Mr. Bunny? You would? That is wonderful! It will be like having a sleep over, Mr. Bunny! You will tell each other your secrets. Tot will enjoy that!_  
  
He pulled out of her head for a moment, looking out into the sky and gripping the stone of the balcony to anchor himself in his own body. He could understand now why Crawford did not want him involved. The risk existed that he may lose himself inside her thoughts. He was willing to take the risk.   
  
Crawford would not understand.   
  
Schuldig would not explain.


	3. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brad Crawford wears a mask of steel.

He stood on the balcony, not because he wanted to be outside, but because he couldn't stand being around Crawford when he was feeling like this. Most of the time he didn't envy the American anything, but there were times when he did envy his level of self control. Even if Crawford felt angry enough to resort to violence, you could never tell it by looking at his face. He was always a mask of calm composure, the slight narrowing of his eyes the only tip off that something was amiss.  
  
Schuldig was nothing like that. He let himself get caught up in damaging emotions, he allowed frustration to show on his features. Never one to keep his mouth shut, there was always a comment to be made, a retort too good to go unsaid. Crawford was a master of the iron mask, while Schuldig's features were pliable.  
  
 _Don't stay on the balcony all night, Schuldig. It will reach freezing temperature later, and you can't afford to get frostbitten._  
  
He glared out into the night, his lips curling in disgust. Though it was indeed getting to be quite cold, he refused to go inside to get a jacket. Maybe he would freeze. That would serve Crawford right. He could still feel the sting of the American's blow, though he hadn't touched Schuldig. The sting was all mental, all emotional.  
  
 _“I have just spoken with Takatori. There is a new target, a quick one meant for this evening. The details of his betrayal are not important, all you need to know is that he must be disposed of. Farfarello, you will handle this. Please do not make too much of a mess.” The Irishman nodded, comprehension clearly written on his face.  
  
“Nagi, you will accompany him.”  
  
“Nagi? Why are you sending him?” Schuldig locked eyes with Crawford, confusion twisting his features. It was his job to accompany Farfarello, his responsibility. Nagi preferred to remain at the apartment.  
  
Crawford's steel mask was not altered as he stared at Schuldig. “I can no longer trust you to handle matters by yourself. You will remain here. I have another job for you.”_  
  
There had been no further discussion, and no further explanation for their partners. Farfarello and Nagi left with the knowledge that Schuldig was no longer trustworthy (though not without a malicious look from the young Japanese boy, clearly unhappy at being forced outside) and he was left with Crawford. Moments passed before Schuldig had asked for clarification. Crawford had not given any.   
  
An hour later and now he stood outside, fuming. Of course it was his own fault for going after Tot, he understood that. But he could control himself when it mattered!  
  
 _“You don't need to punish the others in order to punish me.”_  
  
Crawford did not look up from his dossier when he answered Schuldig's comment. “I am not punishing them. If I send you, I would also have to accompany you, and I simply don't have the time.”  
  
“But you don't have to accompany me! I only visited her last night because there was nothing going on! If you were going to need me, you would have told me.”  
  
“But I told you to leave her alone. You did not listen. Therefore, I can no longer trust you.”  
  
“Then why keep me around? Why not get rid of me if you no longer trust me?” He leaned over the desk, his face inches from Crawford's, knowing it would annoy him.  
  
Crawford looked up at him finally, the mask still present. “You're the telepath, Schuldig. Why don't you take a look and tell me?”  
  
Seconds passed before the German finally straightened up and looked away. “You know I can't read you.”  
  
Crawford then looked back at his papers. “You are supposed to be the best of your ability, Schuldig. Perhaps if you spent more time in training, you could pass my shields.”   
  
That was the moment he'd left the office, and the warning about frostbite had followed him. The comment stung in particular because he knew there was an edge of truth to it. He should be able to slip past anyone's shield. He had the ability, he'd proven that at Rosenkreuz. He'd gotten lazy after leaving the school. He'd developed too great of a respect for his American counterpart, refusing to pass his barriers and survey his thoughts. Now he simply wasn't able to, and it was his own doing. So then why wasn't he inside right now, blasting Crawford with everything he had?  
  
“Steeped in disfavor still?”  
  
He turned his head, eyes on the balcony door. Farfarello had returned.  
  
“What did I miss?”  
  
“One more blasphemer has been reunited with his Lord.” Farfarello joined him on the balcony, his pale skin free of blood spatter. Perhaps it was more useful to send Nagi after all.  
  
“Happy to hear it,” he looked out at the darkening sky and wished for a cigarette. “How was Nagi?”  
  
Farfarello paused in his response, and Schuldig listened to his mind, hearing his contemplation. “Very clean.”  
  
Schuldig grinned and clapped a hand to Farfarello's back. “I'll remember that the next time I'm allowed out.” He then opened to the door, heading back inside. “We should go in before we succumb to frostbite.” He didn't wait for Farfarello, he instead made for Crawford's office, knowing what he had to do.  
  
He didn't knock before entering.  
  
“And what has your sojourn on the cold balcony shown you?” Crawford's voice was bland, devoid of any emotion.  
  
“I've come to tell you that you're right, I should not be allowing my ability to waste away.” He stood in front of the desk, his arms crossed and his eyes on the American. Crawford did not look up.  
  
“You believe that working on the girl's mind will give you the mental exercise you require?”  
  
“Yes.” He waited for an answer, knowing that whichever one he received, there would be no refute.  
  
Crawford made him wait for a few minutes more. Finally he closed the document he'd been studying and filed it in the cabinet behind his desk. “You make a valid point.”  
  
It was tough, biting back the comment he wanted to make.  
  
“I'll think about it. For now you should be concentrating on our current mission.”  
  
“And what is our current mission?” Once again his face showed his emotions (confusion and surprise) and once again Crawford's remained an impassive mask.  
  
“We have just learned some valuable information about one of Weiss' members. The young one.”  
  
“Bombay?”  
  
“Yes. If you make yourself comfortable, I'll fill you in.” Crawford indicated to one of the extra chairs in the room, and Schuldig sat. When he next met the eyes of the American, the steel mask was no longer there. There was a smile on Crawford's face, the kind that was only there in rare circumstances, the kind that he alone of Schwarz was ever a witness to.  
  
“So, what is this news of Bombay?” He tried to appear nonchalant in his question, but he knew it must be something big to have Crawford so amused.  
  
“He is the son of Takatori Reiji.”


	4. Business Parties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takatori Reiji is throwing a party, and Schwarz have been tasked as security detail.

_'Oh, would you look at her eye shadow? Who is she trying to drag home?'_  
  
 _'What a pompous ass. No, I don't care about your new vacation home in the Alps! But thank you for telling me anyway!'_  
  
 _'Do you really think I'm that stupid? I can get my own drink, thanks, the last thing I need is for you to drug me and drag me off to your cave, you neanderthal!'_  
  
 _'Why am I here? I have reports to finish! Maybe I can sneak off upstairs. Then when I'm done I can wank off on Takatori's carpet. I hate that guy.'_  
  
 _'Stop talking about your vacation home! Why bother telling me the details when we both know you're never going to invite me?'_  
  
 _'He is so jealous of me, I can see it in his eyes! Just ask if you can come visit, just ask so I can say no!'_  
  
“Schuldig?”  
  
Glancing to his right and seeing the reproachful look on Crawford's face, Schuldig smiled at him before looking back out at the crowd.  
  
"You should hear these people! This party is definitely more entertaining than the last one."  
  
Arms held at his sides, Crawford kept his eyes on Schuldig for a moment. Three days had passed since he'd come down on the telepath for his obsession with the Schreient girl, and three days had passed with Schuldig obeying him fully. It was a promising sign, but he was not about to relent.  
  
 _'I'm not exaggerating, Crawford; would you like to hear?'_  
  
 _'Are you doing your job?'_  
  
 _'Of course I am, and for your information, no, I have not yet picked up on our target. Didn't you say he'd be showing up later on in the night anyway?'_  
  
 _'No. I said he would be causing a disturbance later on in the night. He is probably here already.'_  
  
 _'You'd be a lot more useful if every vision was crystal clear and photographic. A time stamp wouldn't hurt either.'_  
  
Crawford did not answer that comment, but as Schuldig looked at him out of the corner of his eye, he could have sworn the American was smirking.

* * *

“Ah, here is the man I have been telling you about! The head of my security force, Brad Crawford.”  
  
 _'I think I'll go for a brief patrol now; enjoy your bullshit small talk!'_  Schuldig quickly moved further away from his partner, getting lost among the crowd. He didn't have to see Crawford (or even hear him) to feel his level of annoyance at being cornered by their boss. Though he was exceptionally good at practiced business conversation, Schuldig knew that Crawford did not enjoy it.  
  
He could have stuck around (for comic relief at least) but he was still a little put off by the dressing down of three days ago. Crawford could drown in the ensuing tedium of Reiji Takatori's business partners, and Schuldig would stand back and laugh. He moved into the main hall, a drink in his hand and his eyes scanning the crowd. They were mostly all the same, business men and composed wives (or mistresses, take your pick). He was getting bored.  
  
Just then he heard a voice that was a little bit different. Whoever she was, she was young, and had come here alone, looking for someone. A quick scan of her memories and he had her in sight. She was quite lovely. He grabbed a second glass of wine from a steward and moved towards her.  
  
“Mikito?” He stood before her, offering her the glass. She fixed him with a look of surprise.  
  
“Kou?” How she was lovely – porcelain skin, vivid blue eyes (contacts, of course, but still stunning), hair dyed a shade of red that nearly made her look Caucasian; she was clearly out of place in this crowd.  
  
“No, he didn't come. Too many witnesses,” he gave her a knowing smile, which made her blush. “He asked me to pick you up for him. I hope you don't mind?”  
  
She clearly looked bothered, but nodded anyway before taking a sip of wine. “What's your name?”  
  
“You don't need to know that,” Schuldig spoke softly, his eyes holding fast to hers. She wanted to disagree with him, wanted to continue questioning him. But instead she nodded and took another sip of her wine. He briefly contemplated what he ought to do with her while he sifted through her head. She was no one of any importance, had no family in Tokyo, no job to report to tomorrow. No one would miss her, except for Kou. Schuldig could deal with him easily enough.  
  
As he continued to contemplate her, a new voice amidst the crowd drew his attention. He quickly glanced around, but did not see Crawford. He must still be preoccupied.  
  
“Mikito, I have someone else I need to deal with. Would you stay here and I'll return for you soon?” He touched her forearm, and she looked at him and smiled. “Have another glass of wine while you wait.” She nodded and smiled at him while he turned and walked swiftly away, his eyes scanning the crowd again, ditching his glass of wine the first possible moment.  
  
He stopped by the door to the east hall, focusing in on the figure of the man who was so loudly projecting his hatred of the Takatori family that Schuldig was surprised no one else was giving him a second glance. Of course he sported a forced smile, but you could tell from his body language, the way he held his torso stiff, his arms trapped by invisible hands, his face pointing straight ahead while his eyes roamed freely - that he was not pleased to be here. Schuldig was half tempted to let him go for a while, to see exactly what he had planned. Crawford hadn't bothered to give him those details, of course. Never more than what was required, and what was required was never all that interesting.  
  
 _'I give you more than the others, so quit dwelling on the supposed lack of trust I place in you and deal with this problem before it manages to draw any attention.'_  
  
Schuldig grinned and left his position by the door, moving swiftly towards the man he'd been watching. He approached him from behind and brushed a hand over his arm, at the same time forcing himself to delve into the man's mind, to block any commands being sent from his brain to his limbs. There was an initial struggle – like there almost always was, because he was almost always too lazy to bother using the full extent of his powers. But within seconds he was leading the man from the room, off down another corridor, into an empty room, suggesting that he might want to kneel on the floor. He paused briefly to consider whether or not he ought to find a bathroom – it would make cleaning so much easier.  
  
 _'Don't worry about cleaning, just get it done so we can leave.'_  
  
'Since when are you concerned with leaving early? Won't he miss us?'  
  
'I don't mean we'll be going home. He'll be bringing a few select people upstairs, and we need to follow. You have three minutes to return. No one will find him tonight.'  
  
And that was all. No further explanation, no further details. Just a command that he was expected to follow. He stood behind the man for a moment, his eyes on the head of black hair underneath him, sifting through his thoughts and memories, becoming familiar with his family. They would be dealt with later on to ensure there was no one left to ask questions.  
  
Two minutes and one spent bullet later, Schuldig found himself following the crisp white suit of Brad Crawford up the stairs. He was still bored.


	5. Details and Direction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reward for good behaviour – or is it simply a means to assert dominance?

“You can't bring her home.”  
  
There was never any room left to question Crawford when he made his demands, and that annoyed Schuldig.  
  
“Why not?” The majority of the time he did away with his aggravation and followed blindly, but he'd just been forced to endure an hour and a half of bullshit conversation about cigars and he was willing to take it out on anyone.  
  
Crawford didn't answer. He never answered these questions.  
  
“I'm bored, I need something to do tonight. I've already looked into it, no one will miss her.” He pleaded his case as he walked around to the driver's side of the red sports car, swinging his keys around on his finger.  
  
“You already have something to do tonight.”  
  
The telepath's eyes rose up to look across the car, but by then his companion had already slid into his seat. Schuldig quickly wrenched his door open and sat down, one leg still on the ground outside. “And what's that? It better not be some bullshit private assignment you dreamed up for me in retaliation of me leaving you alone with Takatori,” Schuldig fixed Crawford with a glare, expecting exactly that which he had detailed.  
  
Instead of confirmation he was met with an amused smirk. “It's not.”  
  
Schuldig waited, holding his breath while narrowing his eyes towards the other man. Surely he couldn't mean... “Are we fucking tonight?”  
  
Crawford showed no signs of acknowledging the question, his eyes now directed on the world outside of the windshield. “Start the car.”  
  
Schuldig did as requested, drawing his left foot inside and slamming his door shut. It had been some time since he and Crawford had spent the night together, and the very possibility of it happening again left all of his questions on the gravel, ground into dust under the squealing tires.

* * *

He wrapped his legs more tightly around Crawford's waist, shoving himself against the other man, shoving himself onto the other man. All thoughts of that redheaded woman from the party were gone, the past three days worth of silent and secret contemplation about Tot's broken mind were gone. All that existed right now was the silence in his head, the fingers in his hair, the hand wrapped around his neck, and the dick in his ass. Everything was so unusually simple at that moment - even if he'd tried to fill his head with thoughts, Crawford would have wiped them clean. He always thought momentarily that he ought to be concerned about the American's ability to manipulate his mind, but he always seemed to forget to bring it up when they'd finished fucking.  
  
“Stop thinking, that's the whole point of these sessions.”  
  
Schuldig grinned at the comment, peering down at Crawford's composed face. “You make this sound like a chore rather than a reward,” he traced his fingers over the skin of the American's chest, as though he were writing words.  
  
“A reward for who? What have you done lately that's deserving of a reward?” Crawford's expression took on a slight tone of amusement, his smile reaching his eyes finally.  
  
Schuldig leaned over, closing his mouth down on Crawford's neck. “Can't answer that, I'd have to think about it and you told me not to think, so we'll just compromise and say that you're the one who's being rewarded,” he pressed his mouth to the jugular vein, feeling the pulse and throb as the blood rushed through the artery.  
  
Crawford pulled on the clump of red hair in his hands, Schuldig's face rising back until he could stare his partner in the eyes. “Some great reward,” there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and it drove the German mad, even though he knew Crawford wasn't really questioning his ability at all. He was simply playing with him, toying with his ego.  
  
He fell for it every time.

* * *

“I do still trust you.”  
  
The words caught him off guard – they usually didn't speak after sex, at least not out loud.   
  
“You're the only person in the world who I trust.”  
  
“I think you must have fucked me a little too hard,” Schuldig rolled over on to his side, propping himself up on his elbow. He gazed down into the face of the American, confused about his comment. It was very unlike him.  
  
“You're not delusional, and I'm not swimming in the euphoric afterglow of our love making,” that sarcastic tone was back, “but I do trust you.”  
  
He studied the brown eyes looking up at him, trying to gauge what Crawford was playing at with this line of conversation. Was he trying to breed another level of commitment? What was the deal? There was always a deal with Crawford, always an ulterior motive. “Why do you trust me?”  
  
At this question Crawford smirked and reached out with his hand, his fingers moving over Schuldig's cheek. “Because I can control you.”  
  
Schuldig's face twisted with a frown. “You don't control me.”  
  
Crawford's face alit with a grin. “You enjoy it, don't delude yourself.” The hand retreated from Schuldig's face.  
  
Huffing in annoyance, Schuldig settled his head back onto the pillow, drawing his feet up so his knees were bent, purposefully pulling the sheets out of their tucked in corners at the end of the bed. He didn't respond to the comment, not until he felt Crawford shift beside him, coming closer and snaking an arm across his chest, pressing his mouth against the flesh of Schuldig's bicep. It was so very hard to resist him when he was like this, playful and aggressive and so very unlike his usual self that Schuldig almost didn't recognize him.  
  
“Tot will create problems for all of us, but especially for you.”  
  
“Are you worried about me?”  
  
“You may be forced into hiding, and that would end our partnership.”  
  
“You _are_ worried about me.”  
  
Silence greeted his comment, but he could feel Crawford's mouth drawn up at the corners, as though he were still amused by all of this. Schuldig made up his mind then, and turned onto his side, facing the American.  
  
“You're right, I do enjoy it.” He mimicked the smirk he saw on Crawford's face, hating that he was being forced into submission yet again. But this was how they worked, and even though he sometimes hated it, he couldn't contemplate any other life. “Will you tell me what exactly I have in store for myself?”  
  
“No.”  
  
He wasn't surprised. A little disappointed, perhaps, but not surprised. “Why don't you ever give me details?”  
  
Crawford studied him silently for a moment before answering. “Because you don't need details. You just need direction.”


	6. The Devil and his Right-Hand Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schuldig and Farfarello are tasked with a mission.

It was dark in the parking lot, the faint yellow glow of a streetlamp the only source of light. There were supposed to be three others, but they'd burnt out.  
  
“It's as though even the moon has turned her back upon us.”  
  
Schuldig glanced to his side, eyes taking in the still form of Farfarello, seated next to him in the car. “Is that a good thing, or bad?” He watched as the Irishman's face contracted slightly, the way it did when he was giving a matter serious thought.  
  
“It's a good thing,” he paused as he turned to face Schuldig, “for we as agents of the dark night require shadows in which to move.”  
  
“Is the moon on our side, then?” Schuldig asked, not bothering to find the answer himself, since sometimes Farfarello's spoken thoughts were different from the ones presently in his head.  
  
“No. The moon fears us. Our presence has scared it into retreat.”  
  
Schuldig did not answer the comment straightaway. Instead he looked out of his window, eyes on a van parked at the other end of the lot. Not noticing any movement, he looked back at his partner. “That's the answer I was hoping for.”  
  
“Are we moving out now?” Farfarello's eye was also on the van, as his fingers were on the tip of a knife, pressing against it lightly.  
  
Schuldig listened, judging where the conversation was presently at. “No, not yet. Give it another few minutes.”  
  
“As you say,” Farfarello turned his head, staring out of his own window. Schuldig watched him for a moment, though he kept his ears attuned to their prey in the van. Earlier he'd been rummaging around in Farfarello's head, checking to see if the Irishman held any reservation towards working alone with him after the incident of a few days prior. Nagi was still annoyed with him, but Schuldig had expected that. Farfarello's mind worked differently, though. There were so many exceptions to the rules inside that silver-capped head that Schuldig could never be fully sure of what he found within.  
  
So far, though, his partner didn't seem to have any problem with having the German back at his side on their hunting missions. Schuldig hoped the Irishman wasn't going to change his mind any time soon.  
  
Just then he picked up on the line he'd been waiting an hour for and a grin adorned his lips. “Time to go,” he instructed before opening the door of his car and climbing out. Farfarello followed, joining him as they stalked towards the van, knives and gun withdrawn. Schuldig did not foresee the need for the gun, not with these people. He still liked waving it around, though, for added effect.  
  
“Tonight we are sent as messengers of the Devil,” Farfarello spoke lowly, his words loud enough for only Schuldig's ears.  
  
“And to whom are we delivering a message?” They stopped at the side of the van, and Schuldig rapped on the side of it with his gun three times.  
  
“We deliver it to the world.”  
  
Schuldig grinned as he listened to the worried mutterings of the three men in the back of the van. “And the moon and stars?”  
  
“They already fear us, but they will not warn their Father, and He shall weep when He learns of the bloodshed.”  
  
Schuldig rapped on the van again. “Then go forth, demon, and do what you do best.”  
  
Just then the back door of the van swung open, and a voice was heard. “Is someone there? Come around where I can see you!” The voice was tinged with malice, but Schuldig heard the nervous edge and smiled.  
  
“As you wish,” Farfarello spoke and stepped in front of the open door, the inside light falling on him as though he'd taken to the stage, knives gleaming in both hands. “Are you believers of God the Deceiver?”  
  
Schuldig had to grin as he listened to the thoughts inside, all of which were confused, but none as worried as they ought to be. Any who did not greet the sight of the one-eyed man with concern were fools. Farfarello would show them the error of their ways.  
  
“He has spoken through you. Do you know what He has said?” Farfarello remained still in the light of the van, a slight incline of the head his only movement. “He has said _'Take from me these children, these black sheep of my flock, so that I might not know the pain of their suffering!'_ He has turned his back upon you. I have been sent to correct your wrongs.”  
  
Schuldig waited in silence, counting the seconds – one, two, three. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. As Farfarello tasted the blood of his enemies upon his lips, so Schuldig tasted it upon Farfarello's mind. He closed his eyes and remained standing at the side of the van, losing himself in the ecstasy of the Irishman's blood lust, and in the fear of the three victims, horror sweeping through them as swiftly as the sharp edge of Farfarello's favoured knives. The deaths were finalized in mere moments, too swift for either assassin's liking, but nearly too long for measures of safety. When things quieted inside the van, Schuldig pushed himself away from it and walked towards the trees that lined the edge of the parking lot.  
  
He felt as fleet as the fox, coming upon injured prey that dared not move. He tasted anxiety on the air, and licked his lips as he drew upon the crouched and shivering figure. “Good evening,” he spoke into the darkness, directing his gaze at the shape he could only just make out. “Have you been enjoying the show?”  
  
There was no sound from the figure, who huddled more tightly in on itself, fear pouring from every inch of skin, from every shard of the mind still intact.  
  
“Come out, little lamb, he won't harm you.” Schuldig looked back at the van, at Farfarello's straight-backed figure standing again on the ground, silhouetted in the light. He reached out with his gift, his mental fingers soft and smooth, caressing the frightened mind into following orders. He was rewarded with the figure of a young woman, dressed in the athletic attire required for a late night jog. He smiled at her, a wolfish smile full of sharp teeth and ill intentions. She took one step backwards.  
  
“Don't run. It'll only make killing you that much more unpleasant.” Schuldig moved swiftly towards her, catching an arm and pulling her towards him. “The world is not a safe place for a beautiful young woman to be alone in. Unfortunate that you have to find that out the hard way.”  
  
“Please don't hurt me,” she begged, tears catching in her throat.  
  
“Hurt you?” He laughed, pressing his face into her neck, “Oh I'm not going to hurt you.”  
  
The doors of the van slammed shut in the distance, and the engine roared to life. He did not have to ask what Farfarello was doing, though he was surprised that the Irishman had thought of it.  
  
He returned his attention to the girl, who was struggling feebly in his grip. “You've seen something that you had no right to witness. There can not be any other outcome for you.” He threw her to the ground and holstered his gun before swooping down on top of her. “Try not to struggle, and I'll be quick.”  
  
She let out a scream and he felt himself sinking into her thoughts and fears, laughing at the images she brought up in her head of what he was going to do to her. She was right about one thing, but wrong about the other.  
  
“I've told you not to struggle, you're only making this harder on me.” He grinned and reached down for her top, tearing it open with his strong fingers. Her fear was enough to make him hard, but he wasn't going to find any release here in the parking lot. “You have the wrong impression of me,” he spoke low, reaching now for her shorts. “I said I wasn't going to hurt you,” one pull and he'd ripped those too.  
  
“I'm only going to kill you.”  
  
He quickly pulled out his gun and shot a bullet into her forehead, satisfied with the look of terror on her face. He stood up and gazed down at her, taking in the whole scene. He leaned back down and pulled again on the remains of her top, exposing one breast. He looked her over again and was satisfied with his work. There would be no doubt in the mind of the police that this poor girl had been sexually assaulted while jogging through a park, and had then been shot in order to keep her silenced. They would not find traces of semen on her, but that wouldn't matter. He'd make sure of it.

* * *

He picked Farfarello up on the other side of the city, where he'd deposited the van in the heart of the Toa-kai yakuza district. This would be cover enough, and would also incite a minor war of retribution among the rival gangs that would give them cover for a few weeks worth of missions. He was quite impressed with Farfarello's plan. The drive back to the apartment was quiet, the way it usually was. The Irishman was always subdued after committing murders, always using the silence as time to engage in a verbal war against God inside his mind.  
  
After seeing Farfarello safely to his room, where he locked him into his straight jacket for the night (he was always too unbalanced after murder to be allowed to roam freely), Schuldig made his way down the hallway, passing through the living room and kitchen (where Nagi sat, eating dinner and clicking away on his laptop) and through the door to Crawford's office.  
  
“Before you ask, yes, her death was necessary.” He pushed the door closed behind him before making his way to sit in one of the arm chairs. Crawford did not answer right away, and Schuldig did not press him for acknowledgment.  
  
“As long as you follow up with it and ensure the investigation runs the way we want it to, I see no need to dispute your reasoning regarding necessity.”  
  
Schuldig grinned and sat up straight, his eyes on the American. “I had a wonderful time, Farfarello was quite well behaved. We dropped the van off in Toa-kai district.”  
  
“Intelligent.”  
  
“Surprisingly so.” Schuldig stood up and walked over to where Crawford sat, leaning over his shoulder to read a page of the document laid out before him. “Will you be busy all night with this?”  
  
“Yes.” Though he did not say more, Schuldig could feel the repellant nature of Crawford's mind pushing at him to leave. Unluckily for the American, Schuldig was always up for a challenge.  
  
“One day you're going to work yourself too hard, and I won't be there to relieve the stress,” he whispered into the other man's ear, his breath blowing softly across Crawford's cheek.  
  
“That will be the day when I'm burying you in the ground.”  
  
Schuldig grinned at the retort, amused. “Have you seen that in a vision?”  
  
Crawford turned to the next page of his document, smoothing the paper at the middle crease so it lay flat. “Not yet, but I'm sure it's bound to surface one of these days.”  
  
Without warning Schuldig grabbed Crawford's face with his left hand, gripping the pointed chin and forcing it to meet him. He pressed his lips to the American's, kissing him forcefully before pulling back.  
  
“I have work to do.” Crawford quickly returned his gaze to the paper, not appearing bothered by the intrusion, but not giving Schuldig anything in return.  
  
“You can't even spare me ten minutes?” He knew the answer already, but was enjoying the freedom to play with Crawford. It wasn't always allowed.  
  
“Out.”  
  
Huffing dramatically, Schuldig pushed himself away from the desk and headed for the door. Perhaps he ought to go and bother Nagi after all.


	7. Korean Grills and Baby Blue Stockings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon taking Farfarello out for lunch, Schuldig encounters a voice he did not expect to hear.

It was the middle of the afternoon, sun high in the sky, a light breeze ruffling the trees. Takatori did not require their presence for the day, so Schuldig had decided to take Farfarello for a drive. They were currently driving through the Harajuku district, as Schuldig enjoyed the outlandish outfits. He had the windows down and music blasting (some crazy industrial stuff he could barely make out the words to) and was enjoying the scenery quite a lot. Farfarello was fairly silent beside him, which suited Schuldig just fine. The calmer the Irishman, the better. Schuldig thought back to Schwarz's humble beginnings, and the trial and error process he and Crawford had endured in order to understand how best to deal with their demonic counterpart. Amusingly enough Schuldig had been the one to discover that long car rides seemed to soothe his hectic personality. Farfarello was kind of like a dog.  
  
While stopped at a red light he looked to the side, eyes on the Irishman. Farfarello seemed to be intensely focused on something outside his window. Instead of asking, Schuldig followed his gaze, and found his eyes falling on two nuns. Without breaking from his line of sight, he reached down to lock the passenger side door. The last thing he needed was a bloodbath in the middle of the city.  
  
 _Are you hungry?_  He shot at his partner, feeling the beginning rumbles of hunger in his own stomach. He'd gotten up too late to bum breakfast off either of his teammates, and subsequently hadn't bothered making himself anything. He enjoyed eating out.  
  
 _That depends on where you'd prefer to eat,_  Farfarello answered, his eyes still drawn to the sidewalk.  
  
 _Probably something meaty, maybe that Korean barbeque place two blocks away._  
  
 _That would be agreeable._  
  
Schuldig grinned, wondering if he was tempting fate by taking Farfarello out for lunch in public. He was sure nothing horrible was going to happen, otherwise he'd have heard from Crawford by now.  _Korean it is!_    
  
He pulled off the main street, driving around until he found a decent parking spot. He never bothered locking his doors – he considered it a fun game trying to track down whoever chose to steal his car. It had unfortunately only happened once so far, and it had taken him two hours of searching before finding the culprit. Three seconds and one bullet were all it had taken to end the game.  
  
It was a short walk to the restaurant, and Schuldig made sure to keep track of every mind around him. The only downside to bringing Farfarello into the district was the potential for trouble from outside sources. There were many amateur fashion photographers who flocked to these streets, and given Farfarello's unique style, Schuldig often found himself having to redirect that attention elsewhere. It would not do to have their picture wind up in someone's coffee table book of photography.  
  
Once inside they were seated right away (though there was a bit of a line already established for the popular restaurant) and Schuldig set about ordering their usual meals. The waitress found them intriguing, and Schuldig had to admit to finding her quite interesting as well. Perhaps he'd dig a little deeper and find out where she lived. He was not above making midnight house calls.  
  
Their food arrived soon and both of them discarded the chopsticks brought to their table, instead using the knife and fork Schuldig had also asked for. They could both use chopsticks, but had chosen not to. It actually tended to be safer to give Farfarello a dull steak knife, rather than two pointed sticks, so Schuldig had found out one day.  
  
“Does Crawford trust you again?”  
  
The question caught Schuldig off guard – he'd been busy paying attention to everyone else in the restaurant, and had ignored his teammates thoughts. Not an intelligent thing when you were out with the Irishman. He glanced across the table at Farfarello, dipping into his thoughts. “What do you think?”  
  
“He must,” Farfarello answered, “otherwise he would not allow you to bring me along.”  
  
Schuldig nodded. “Solid reasoning. How's the eel?” He glanced across the table at the Irishman's plate.  
  
Farfarello was quiet for a moment before answering. “Crispy.”  
  
Schuldig grinned and leaned forward, spearing a piece of it with his fork and trying it for himself. As he chewed he once again listened in on the conversations in the restaurant, before allowing his ears to wander outside. Immediately one voice in particular called out to him, a voice he had not been expecting. He finished chewing the stolen piece of eel and swallowed, all the time trying to pinpoint the exact location of that voice.  
  
“What are you listening to?” Farfarello's question caught him off guard. “You have that concentrated look on your face.”  
  
Schuldig focused his sights on the Irishman, dropping the voice momentarily. “Can I trust you to stay here for a little while? No trouble, or you'll be locked up for a week.” He knew it wasn't smart, leaving Farfarello on his own in such a concentrated public place. Maybe everything would be okay, though.  
  
“If anything happens he will blame you, and you will lose the trust you have just regained.”  
  
“You didn't answer my question. I'll be back before you finish your meal. You can have the rest of mine if you're still hungry.” Schuldig focused in on his teammate, his eyes narrowed and his gaze calculating. He knew that what Farfarello said was true. If anything did happen, Crawford would blame him, in the end. But again, if anything were going to happen, he would have been contacted by now with a warning.  
  
“It's your reputation on the line, not mine. I won't leave the restaurant, if that will make you feel better.” He speared another piece of eel before directing his gaze to the tank of live fish near the wall.  
  
Making a hasty decision, Schuldig stood up. “Good enough for me. Be well behaved and maybe I'll bring home a toy for you.” He made for the exit, searching for that one voice again. It didn't take him long to find it. Moving swiftly in the crowd, he made his way towards a store two blocks away. It was fairly crowded, which made it easier for him to stalk his prey without notice. Sweeping his gaze across the room, he saw her. She blended in here, the only place in the world where that was possible. No one took any special notice of her. But she still stood out to him. He moved closer.  
  
“Oh, would daddy buy these for Tot? They will match her new blue dress perfectly!” She held up a pair of baby blue frilled stockings.  
  
Masafumi smiled and patted her arm. “Of course my little Toto, daddy will buy you whatever you desire.”  
  
She flung her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh thank you, daddy!” She went back to the display of accessories, eyes roaming over them, looking for anything else that would compliment an outfit.  
  
Schuldig hung in the background, watching. It was a strange relationship these two had, he thought. Clearly, this man was not actually her father. Schuldig carefully prodded around in Masafumi's head, careful not to disturb him, searching for a birth date. He found it, but couldn't bring himself to come out of Masafumi's mind just yet. He hunted a little further, looking for memories of the girl he was out with currently.  
  
Not to his surprise, every memory that Schuldig saw felt fake. Even the current ones, from as recent as this morning, felt false when he viewed them. What surprised him even more, though, were the _obviously_ faked ones. Ones from when Tot was a baby. Schuldig knew there was no way Takatori's brother had had the girl for so long. Given his age it was impossible! But that meant that someone had planted false memories in the man's head. A false trail? Something meant to placate whoever became interested enough to go looking?  
  
Schuldig nearly felt insulted. Clearly, no one had anticipated that he would go looking. Not only did he believe the memories were a lie, but it also strengthened his resolve to search further and figure out the mystery of this strange girl. As tempted as he was to stick around and pry some more, he managed to remember his first priority.  
  
Leaving the store he quickly scanned the crowds of people two blocks away, listening for any frightened thoughts. Hearing nothing to worry him, he took his time walking back, his thoughts on Masafumi and Tot. Strange relationship, strange memories, it was a strange situation. Perhaps he'd take another visit to the mansion and scan the other members of Schreint. He doubted he'd find anything of use, probably more falsified memories and empty emotions towards the girl.  
  
He arrived back at the restaurant, taking a moment to peer inside before entering. Surprise of all surprises, nothing appeared to be amiss, and he saw Farfarello sitting where he'd left him. Schuldig walked into the restaurant and returned to his seat. Farfarello affixed him with an odd sort of stare, and Schuldig immediately went to work, searching through the Irishman's head. He looked down at his plate, seeing that he'd actually been left some of his barbequed ribs. He picked up his fork and was about to stab one when Farfarello spoke.  
  
“I wouldn't eat that if I were you.”  
  
Schuldig frowned and brought the piece of meat up for inspection. It was a finger.  
  
“I believe this is when we leave,” Farfarello stood up, his gaze fixed on his partner.  
  
Schuldig followed suit, reaching out mentally and convincing their waitress that he had already paid, and that it would be in her best interest to put an 'out of order' sign on the men's washroom door. He led Farfarello out of the restaurant, pleased that the Irishman had at least remained clean and somewhat inconspicuous. Now he just hoped that Crawford hadn't seen this in a vision.  
  
“Did you have a nice walk?” Farfarello asked him when they were back in the car.  
  
Schuldig nodded, while changing the CD in the stereo. “Very illuminating,” he responded, before cranking the volume again.


	8. The Flight of the Voyeur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schuldig pays Tot a visit in the middle of the night, watching her from her closet.

“Surely, you find that as strange as I do? Why go to all the trouble of creating those falsified memories?” Schuldig had come back to the apartment directly upon retrieving Farfarello from the restaurant, eager to share his discovery with Crawford. They were sitting in the American's office.  
  
“You're certain they're false?”  
  
Schuldig frowned at the question. That was like asking him if he could speak German properly. “Of course! I didn't realize it at the time, but whoever did them was very sloppy about it.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
Schuldig thought about the question, taking a moment to decide on how best to describe it for the precognitive. “Well, regardless of how old she is in every memory, Masafumi is always the same. He never looks any younger. Always exactly how he is now. I know some people don't change much with age, but she has to be at least the same age as Nagi, if not older. If he'd had her as young as his memories suggest, he'd have been fifteen at most. What I saw in his head was not a fifteen year old boy holding a baby.”  
  
Crawford leaned his head against his hand, fingers rubbing his chin. Schuldig's reporting on delving into the mind of Masafumi Takatori was indeed strange. Now to figure out what to do about it. “I want you to go back to their mansion and bring me something of hers.”  
  
Schuldig fixed Crawford with a curious gaze. “What sort of thing?”  
  
“Anything she's touched, preferably clothing.”  
  
“Why?” Schuldig's curiosity ate at him, wondering what Crawford had planned.  
  
“I'm going to do some investigating of my own. Go tonight, I don't foresee any need for you here, nor do I foresee any trouble. Just make sure no one notices you.” Crawford picked up his pen, jotting something down in a notebook that Schuldig couldn't see.  
  
Feeling that he was now being dismissed, the German stood up, heading for the door. For once he did not feel the urge to harass his partner; he had too many unanswered questions floating around in his head that he wanted to contemplate.  
  
“Oh, and Schuldig?” Crawford waited until he had the full attention of the telepath before continuing. “If you're going to take Farfarello out in public, you cannot leave him on his own anymore. Luckily for you, I had a vision and managed to send a team in to clean up before anyone noticed. If it happens again, though, there will be repercussions, and you will not like them.”  
  
Schuldig grinned and leaned against the door. “And here I thought I'd actually gotten away with that.”  
  
“You should know better by now. There is nothing I do not see.” Crawford resumed writing after that, and Schuldig quietly left his office, the reprimand falling off his shoulders as his mind drifted back to Tot and Masafumi. He walked down the hall towards his bedroom, longing for nothing more than silence and the ability to contemplate it all. What he did not expect to find was Nagi, sitting on his bed, waiting for him.  
  
As soon as he entered the room the Japanese boy stood up. “Did you see Tot today?”  
  
Schuldig paused, leaning in the doorway. “How do you know?”  
  
“Farfarello told me.” Nagi wore a strange expression, one that nearly read contempt and anger. Schuldig found it intriguing.  
  
“He did, did he?” Schuldig wondered if he ought to bother trying to creep into the kid's head or not. Nagi was getting increasingly better at shoving him out when he didn't want him there.  
  
“I asked him.”  
  
Schuldig grinned and pushed himself off of the wall, walking over towards Nagi. “You're not getting possessive now, are you?”  
  
The Japanese boy glared at him and crossed his arms over his chest. “I think you should leave her alone.”  
  
“Oh, do you?” He couldn't help himself now. Diving into the telekinetic's head, Schuldig went about pulling up every mention of the girl he could find, bombarding Nagi quickly with the knowledge that he was seeing everything. Every emotion, every feeling, every hope...  
  
“Get out of my head, Schuldig.” Though the voice was calm, Schuldig could hear the tremor beneath it. The boy was angry.  
  
“Don't interfere in my plans for your girlfriend, then.” He finally relented, a devilish smile on his lips as he leaned against his dresser. “I promise I'll leave whatever feelings she may or may not be capable of feeling for you intact.”  
  
Nagi strode past him hurriedly, slamming the door behind him on his way out. Schuldig grinned and walked over to lay down on his bed. The kid still needed some work, obviously, but he was getting better. Still, perhaps he ought to talk about him with Crawford. Nagi needed to fully understand his place in this group.  
  


* * *

He waited until it was dark before moving from the roof. He could have always stayed at home until now, but after contemplating this whole thing for two hours he'd started feeling antsy. He wanted to get in and get something of Tot's for Crawford, anxious to know exactly what sort of research the American had in mind. So he'd come early, slipping past their lax security and climbing up to the roof. While rustling through the heads in the house, he'd watched clouds blow by and the sun sink, closing his eyes briefly only to open them again when there were stars out. Now it was time to move.  
  
He swung off the ledge, dropping down to Tot's balcony. He knew from listening that she was downstairs in the kitchen, having tea with her sisters. He looked in through the door, wondering if he ought to snatch something now, or wait a little while. He decided on the latter, thinking back to that afternoon's brief dispute with Nagi. Perhaps he'd watch Tot undress, to show the boy brief glimpses of however much skin he'd get to see this time. That could be entertaining, if a little dangerous. He'd have to do it when Crawford was around.  
  
He opened the door and let himself into her bedroom, looking around. Nothing had changed since the last time he'd been here, everything was the same. But just to be sure, he walked across to her dresser, his fingers reaching out to pick up her mirror. Still shattered.  
  
He replaced it before walking over to her closet, deciding to take a look through it this time. It was quite large, and full of colourful dresses. Odd, just like her. Could Nagi really be falling for someone this strange? Schuldig shook his head before moving on to look over her collection of shoes. There were many different coloured ones, mostly with buckles and ribbons and scalloped edges. Childish, all of them.  
  
Just then he heard noise from downstairs, the scraping of a chair, thoughts of a warm bed. Tot. He contemplated on where he ought to hide himself away, glancing back out into the room. He didn't remember seeing her go to her closet the last time he was here, so perhaps he'd simply stay where he was. There wasn't much time left to decide, it was either here or out by the window, since the balcony was too open.  
  
He was feeling daring tonight, so he remained where he was, though he did shut off the light inside the little box of a closet. He left the door open and watched as Tot came into the bedroom, clutching her stuffed rabbit. She was wearing the new stockings Masafumi had bought her today, along with a different dress. He couldn't help the grin that adorned his lips.  
  
“Oh Mr. Bunny, isn't Tot lucky to have such a lovely family?” She started undoing the buttons on her shirt while standing in front of the bed, where she'd lovingly placed the toy. “They really do care about her a lot! It's very different than what Tot remembers of her old family. Her real daddy was a very bad man, Mr. Bunny.”  
  
Schuldig leapt almost clumsily into her mind, looking for any scraps, anything relating to her real father. But he could find nothing. These were empty words, spoken without meaning or reason. It was almost as though someone knew that he was here, searching, and they were feeding him these lines in order to toy with him.  
  
“What do you think of Tot's new stockings, Mr. Bunny? They really do look lovely with her dress, don't they?” Schuldig kept his eyes on the girl as she spun on the spot, her toes imbedding themselves in the plush carpet. “Daddy is so very good to his Tot.” She undid the last button and placed the shirt into a basket full of clothes (which he hoped were worn) and begin undoing the dress. His eyes took in the sight of her pale skin, and it left him feeling giddy (more from the anticipation of showing Nagi than anything else). After laying the dress on top of her discarded shirt, she sat down on the edge of her bed and began removing her stockings. She stood up and walked over to her dressing table, sitting down and grabbing a tube of moisturizer. He watched as she began rubbing the cream into her legs, ensuring that he memorized every little detail of her body he could. Nagi would despise him after this, but Schuldig thought it would be worth it to see the look on his face.  
  
And if it was going to prove to be too dangerous to show the boy, Crawford would always warn him. That didn't mean he would listen, of course. After all, it was not his job to look out for his own skin. That's what Crawford was for.  
  
Eventually she finished with the cream and stood back up, opening one of her drawers and pulling out a frilly little white nighty. He could barely suppress a laugh as he watched her strip down until she was completely naked, then pull the piece of lingerie over her head. Nagi would definitely despise him.  
  
Tot stopped in front of her bed. “Mr. Bunny, do you like Tot's new nighty? It was another present from Daddy! Can you believe that? Tot is so spoiled, Mr. Bunny. But Tot deserves presents, because Tot is a very good girl. She loves her daddy very much and does whatever he asks of her, Mr. Bunny. Tot is very lucky.”  
  
She walked back over to the dresser and picked up her hairbrush, beginning to brush out her long blue hair. He shifted his position around, sitting up and drawing his knees up, watching through the crack he'd left in the door. Any moment now, and she should put the brush down and pick up the mirror. He was waiting for it.  
  
She did not disappoint him. Finishing with the brush, she picked up the mirror and stared into it. “Mr. Bunny, Tot still has a broken face today. Do you think it will ever be fixed? Tot thinks she will always be broken, Mr. Bunny. No one can fix Tot.”  
  
Schuldig held his breath, listening. What strange words! It really was almost as though someone knew he was here and listening. But was this a challenge, or a threat? He wasn't sure, but he decided to take it as a challenge.  
  
In a moment she replaced the mirror and walked over to the bed, pulling back the blankets and climbing in, reaching down to pick up her stuffed rabbit and tucking it into the bed beside her.  
  
“Goodnight, Mr. Bunny. Tot hopes that she will have pleasant dreams tonight.”  
  
He remained in her closet for half an hour, listening to her mind as she fell asleep. It was an interesting concept, since her thoughts were all constructed by an outside source. Instead of thoughts rushing together and colliding with one another, Tot's thoughts simply stopped.  
  
He decided that was an appropriate time to get up and grab what he was here for.  
  
Slowly opening the door and emerging into the bedroom, he walked over to the bed and stood for a moment, looking down at her sleeping face. He contemplated pulling back her blankets and touching her (in order to enrage Nagi further, of course) but decided against it after a moment's contemplation. If he did that, then he'd probably have to kill the boy, because Nagi would not stop until he saw the German dead.  
  
Moving away from the bed he walked over to the basket of discarded clothing, lifting the top layers until he found a shirt near the bottom. He picked it up and took it with him, heading for the window. Before he made it there he found himself back at the dresser, picking up the mirror.  
  
As he looked at his own cracked reflection, he found himself angling the mirror so he could see her sleeping in the background.  
  
He was going to solve this case, even if it killed him.


End file.
